


Lost and found

by Amaru_Katari



Series: Gryffindor tie(s) [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animal Death, Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23891194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaru_Katari/pseuds/Amaru_Katari
Summary: Dark magic affects the soul of its caster.Or: In which Voldemort feels lost.This story won't make much sense if you haven't read the rest of the series.
Series: Gryffindor tie(s) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1067936
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, last story. What a long, long journey. So many things have changed, and many things will keep changing, but is good to know that change is the only thing you can count on being a constant.
> 
> I have other things to say, but those are more appropiate for the end notes.
> 
> Thank you so much to OhHamilton, who is a wonderful person, betaed this thing, and was able to deal with my ramblings.

Lord Voldemort was not even sure of how long he had been in the Scottish forest he currently resided.

  


He had lost count somewhere, sometime during the third year of his exile, in the midst of losing another little part of himself while possessing yet another unfortunate snake.

  


The endless cycle that he had thought would only last a few months, maybe, if his followers had been more loyal, or braver, or maybe less backstabbing, had extended for a now unknown number of years, and he felt that someday he would die while trying to leave his host. Something he would have to do soon, if the rapid progression of his hosts decay was anything to go by. 

  


He had hoped, foolishly, that one of his followers would appear and take him back to civilization, where he could start the process to get himself a new body. Nothing of the sort had happened, and he had hopped from body to body, trying to get closer to any human settlement, but failing. In the beginning he had aimed to find a magical one but as time passed and his failures mounted, he resigned himself to hope for any human contact. 

  


He felt that he was moving in circles, each time more and more confused as to what he was doing. His mind, the one thing untouched by neither the filthy blood inherited from his muggle father, nor the disgusting weakness that had plagued his maternal family, was failing him. 

  


Sometimes, an overwhelming fog would make him stop mid thought because he would realize his thoughts were contorting themselves. That malignant haze turning whatever he was planning into a chain of unconnected ideas that belonged in the realm of dreams -fantastic, _feverish_ , dreams- rather than to his once sharp intellect. He would shake himself, ashamed, and try to continue with his plans, only to discover, much to his anger and confusion, that he had fallen again to the same patterns. 

  


Trapped on his own mind. As if being defeated by a child wasn’t enough. 

  


The snake raised its head with difficulty above the fallen leaves. Its skin was dry and rotten, sores blossoming on its belly and under its chin, its red eyes milky and sunken. The dry tongue slithered out of its mouth sluggishly before disappearing again. 

  


There was a body near him, warm and alive, sniffing the air in his direction. It was big and dangerous, but had something human in its essence that called for the wraith’s attention. He slithered forward through the grass so his weak eyes could see what was there. 

  


It was a brown mutt of unrecognizable breed, that raised its furry tail in attention once it noticed the creature in the forest’s soil. 

  


The Dog’s head tilted in confusion, and his tail wagged slowly, but it started to move rapidly when the thing opened its mouth and hissed, trying to look intimidating. He moved his head, this time in the direction of the voice of his Human, and a bark transformed into a whine before it was completely formed. The thing _was_ interesting, and if he took the thing to the Human, he would get happy noises, hands patting his head and sides, and _maybe_ even a bite or two of human food. 

  


Decision made, the Dog lowered his head and ears, taking the position that would best serve him to lunge into the _n_ _ot-dead-but-not-alive_ snake in front of him. 

  


The moment in which his eyes connected with those of his prey, however, something was ripped out of him, or maybe _he_ was being ripped out of something, and the Dog knew no more. 

  


For Voldemort, there was only pain. 

  


Burning, scolding pain. Running like lava through his new veins and limbs, carving a hole into his skull, forcing an agonizing sound out of his throat. And it seemed to go on, and on, and on. 

  


An eternity of agony and confusion. The light was too bright, even though the colours seemed too dull. His limbs felt stiff, numb and weak under his body. He was able to take two dizzy steps before falling on his side, laboured puffs of breath barely raising the dirt around his muzzle. 

  


His legs twitched, attempting to keep walking even though he was slumped over in the dirt. _‘I will be late for Hogwarts.’_ He thought, barely able to follow the line of his thoughts. _‘The school is safe and I can use my magic there.’_ Another whine, although this time it was out of sorrow, not pain. 

  


_‘I want to go home.’_

  


But he was tired, and the world was harder to focus on, and finally it dissolved in darkness and the smell of rotten leaves and dirt.

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> If you have followed this series, or my stories, in general, you may be wondering: "Katari, how many people has to die in your life for you to update?"
> 
> The answer to that is: yes.
> 
> Well, my personal skill to make fun of disgraces was born out of necesity, but I understand is not okay for everyone, so! disclaimer: Someone did die, but his death didn't affect how I had planned this story to be written. It was still a slap from my country's reality to my family, and a great loss for all of us, if you're interested to know, but the reason why I hadn't updated has more to do with my program's schedule.
> 
> Also, I may or may not have contracted Covid-19, but the NHS is saturated enough, and I was well enough that I didn't need to go to a hospital. It was a close thing, however, and I don't want a repeat of those two weeks. So, friendly advice: be careful, heed the recommendations from your local health services and the WHO, and take care of you and yours.
> 
> Now, to the story.
> 
> All of us know Voldemort was hidding in Albany when he fled first Godric's Hollow and then Hogwarts, but I refuse to think he was in Albany, the country with a border with Macedonia. I'm just going to asume he was in Albany, the suburb close to Aberdeen.
> 
> Another thing is that Voldemort himself said that he had started to lose hope of getting help from his followers: “I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn’t then fear that I might never regain my powers... Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour... I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess... and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me..."
> 
> Also, there's the fact that he couldn't survive for long possessing animals: "... Their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic... and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long." 
> 
> So, at this point in the series' timeline, it has been close to seven years from the first story, and the Dark Lord has been stumbling in this small patch of forest for almost the same period of time. He was weak after his encounter with Harry, and possessing animals wasn't doing him any favours.
> 
> As you may have guessed, Wormtail didn't have any reasons to leave his cozy post as a pet, at least until Crookshanks appeared. And, as there was no reason for the Weasleys and Grangers to meet in Diagon, Scabber's first encounter with Hermione's cat was in a Hogwart's corridor. Alone, without anyone to protect him. Thus, there was noone to go for Voldemort after third year.
> 
> I'm also working with the assumption that Voldemort had been possessing small animals for so long, and that his mind had been damaged to a point in which he no longer had the same finesse in his magic, that when confronted to a more complex mind (this being the dog), he was so crass in his approach that he managed to give his new body a stroke. The dog, other than a first instinctive resistance, didn't feel much, and left his dying body for Voldemort to enjoy.
> 
> And that's it. I'm of the belief that the biggest events happen out of scene, and I really love "War of the Worlds" type of endings.
> 
> Thank you for getting to this point, and thank you for reading all this.
> 
> Be safe!


End file.
